Imperfects
by AdaptableAmbition
Summary: Arthur is wary of his boundaries; Alfred likes to push them. Neither of them wanted to attend the University of Handicapped Success, or end up as roommates. But as it turns out, their two hearts make a whole. Literally.


_I don't think I've ever written a Hetalia fic before, only made terrible attempts, so here you go! Though this will be blatantly cleared up, here's what it is: Arthur is missing the right half of his heart, Alfred missing his left. The university they attend is completely fictional. I do not own Hetalia or its characters._

* * *

Arthur hated physical education class; the running, the exercising, and the entire brunt of it. It was hard enough to breathe on a good day—now he has to sprint back and forth across the gym floor, pressed against the sweaty bodies of his classmates. Disgusting, really. And, although it wasn't a necessary course to graduate, failing gym would bring his average down, something he desperately needed to be high in order to attend the college of his choice. Ah, the Cardiff Sixth Form College. According to the various pamphlets given to him that year, it was the best college in the UK. He had applied, and they had responded, giving him one requirement: do better in gym, and join a school sport to prove himself athletically fit. It made him want to choke himself, but it had to be done.

_Beep._

Arthur grunted, pushing forward. Everyone hated the beep test. Running across the gym at the sound of a beep, the beeps growing more frequent with each turn. On a regular beep test, he was the first one out, sitting on the bench after a mere few beeps, gasping for air. But this time he would show them. He wouldn't be the first one out.

_Beep. "Level Two."_

If he wasn't in gut-wrenching pain, he would be celebrating.

_Beep._

He glanced at the bench. One of those prissy girls had sat down, yet didn't look tired. God, was that irritating. He tried so hard, and they didn't even bother, ungrateful of the gift they had.

_Beep._

The cramps in his sides were screaming. Lousy beggars. All they wanted him to do was give up; quit and move on, lying down until they were nonexistent. Which he could do, but wouldn't. That gym grade was too important.

_Beep._

His stomach churned.

_Beep._

His vision blurred, the edge of it tinted with red.

_Beep._

His mind swirled, a mixture of a headache and dizziness forming.

_Beep._

His chest felt compressed.

_Beep._

He gasped for air, stumbling forward in an attempt to keep up.

_Beep._

He heard someone call his name, but he ignored it. He needed to keep on going; just for a little longer.

_Beep._

It was after that beep that it happened. He pushed off hard, ready to get to the other side, but the inner pain was too much. His legs gave in, and he collapsed to the ground, a heaving mess of exhaustion and spasms. A whistle blew, and he was sure people came running over, but he couldn't really tell—he had closed his eyes. His throat felt of acid; vomit was leaking out of his mouth and upon the gym floor.

A sudden, intense pain in his chest made him scream out in pain, curling into a ball. Hands were all over him, trying to ease the pain somehow, but it wasn't working. Everything was eating him alive. His guts felt as though they were imploding, and he could do nothing but lay there, listening to the constant reassurances fade away as his hearing did as well.

_Beep._

**. . .**

"Alfred, I told you to lay off the baseball."

"But _Dad_—"

"No excuses. As punishment, no baseball this summer, understood?"

"But—"

"Your health is more important than a sport, Alfred."

Alfred groaned. He loved his dad, but taking away his summer sport was just plain unreasonable.

"Why don't you play catch with Matthew?"

"Matthew's in Canada, remember?"

"Oh, right."

Alfred sighed and left the room. He could only take so much of his father in one day.

It was senior year. Anybody who was anybody had their dates to the prom, their tuxes and dresses picked out, and everything perfectly planned. They would graduate, go to prom, and most likely rent out several hotel rooms, drinking booze and blaring music.

Alfred wasn't.

His annoying, overprotective father forbade it, claiming he was prone to another heart attack if he went. But graduation, prom—it was important, and he was being forced to miss it. All because of two _dumb, annoying _heart attacks.

Alfred's heart beat fast as he walked up the stairs, grip on the railing tight. Along the way, he had to stop, pausing to catch his breath and to regain some energy. On a good day, he could make his way to the top of the stairs, and only collapse against the wall on the third floor to catch his breath. But that day had been absolutely terrible. In the morning, he had jolted awake at seven AM due to a lack of oxygen and couldn't fall back asleep. At midday, during one of the first baseball practices of the season, he had fainted. When he awoke after dinner and found his father, he was told he couldn't play baseball for the summer. And now he couldn't even climb up the staircase.

Using all of his strength, Alfred made it up the stairs, leaning on the wall as he stumbled to his room for support.

Luckily for him, the door was open, and he tumbled in like an ungraceful idiot, sucking in air before falling onto his bed. The air was knocked out of him on impact, just as anticipated.

"Surprise!"

Alfred didn't respond to the soft voice.

But the voice came to him.

"Come on, Al. Aren't you happy to see your brother?"

Alfred took the deepest breath he could manage, sitting up on his bed, beaming. Matthew suddenly snatched Alfred's hand and pulled him into an embrace, hugging him a little too tight for comfort. "Matt . . . you're killing me . . ."

Matthew abruptly let go of him, and Alfred fell back onto the bed, gasping for air, hand on his chest.

"Sorry."

He only replied when he was breathing normally. "It's fine. And dude, you're my _half_-brother. Big difference there."

"Oh whatever!" Matthew exclaimed, and wrapped his arms around Alfred again. "I missed you."

"Matt."

"Sorry. So, anything new happen?"

Alfred blinked. He hadn't seen Matthew since Christmas, and it was already June. What could be so important that it stood out in the few months? "Not much. Dad's being totally _stupid _and not letting me play baseball this year! I mean, how ridiculous is that?!"

"That really sucks, eh? How about we play some catch?"

Alfred peered through his door at the stairs. He really didn't want to have to go through that again. But stairs had never stopped him before! "Sure, let's go, little bro! But I'm warning you: I'm gonna kick your ass!"

"Oh, ha-ha. I'll get the gloves and meet you in the back, okay?"

Matthew skipped out of the room, and Alfred flopped down onto his back, smiling. His little bro was there for the summer. He could celebrate graduation with him. The two of them could have their own party, Matthew would probably cry at Alfred's graduation ceremony, and they could eat all the food they wanted when they got home.

But now, his only concern was getting down the stairs. At least it was easier than going up.

**. . .**

"Okay, ready, eh!"

"'Kay, dude, better get ready 'cause here comes the thunder!"

"Hit me with your best shot," Matthew said, punching his glove. "I can catch any ball you throw at m—"

Matthew was interrupted by a quick ball to the face.

After recovering, he stood up again, plastering a grin on his face. "Hey, I've got an idea, how about we try playing where no one gets slaughtered?"

"You want me to throw it like the French?"

"That's offensive," Matthew muttered, then added, "That works, 'cause then we can both have fun—"

He was interrupted again by a ball to the face.

"Are you doing this on purpose?"

"No!"

This time, instead of the face, he was hit in the crotch.

"Ha, loser!"

Matthew fell to his knees, grimacing in pain. "Alfred, you are seriously twisted! Not everything is about domination! Try relaxing like _me _every once in a while!"

"I don't think I could love moose and drag my ass as much as you do."

At that, Matthew scurried towards Alfred, whom only laughed. By the time Matthew had arrived, Alfred was cracking up, barely able to block his weak attempts to hurt him. "My grandma taught me the true spirit of the maple leaf and it's in her honor that I now defend her you stupid hoser!"

Alfred snorted with laughter. "Your grandma sounds ho—"

There was a brief moment of silence.

Alfred gasped. He fell to his knees, eyes wide, mouth hanging open. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move.

Somewhere near him, Matthew shrieked, and ran through Alfred's field of view, screaming, "Get the AED, get the AED!" over and over again.

Alfred toppled over, landing on the soft grass of his backyard. As he did, everything blurred.

Matthew ran out of the house, their dad following right behind.

"Hold on, Alfred! We called 9-1-1! They're coming! Just please, _please _hold on!" Alfred's eyes snapped shut, and he could feel himself falling into unconsciousness.

"_ALFRED!"_


End file.
